


im pinker than shepards delight

by newrromantics



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrromantics/pseuds/newrromantics
Summary: Missing Scenes / Canon-compliant.Cordelia and Harmony + Sleepovers.





	im pinker than shepards delight

**Author's Note:**

> it's canon-compliant in my heart, because, come on!!!

**sunday** _  
missing scenes: canon-compliant. _

_ — _

•

 

Outside, the sky blooms reds and pinks and oranges.

Inside, your heart bursts until it's spread over the white carpet, trails of red and pink blood soaking into the wool blend.

Her eyes are wide, two full moons in the middle of her face, dark and hungry. For you. Or for the practice, or for _ something _ . But right now you can think: yes, this is for  _ me _ . This is how she looks at the boys she's going to devour and destroy. Eat whole and throw away. But there's an underlying tenderness underneath it all, a tremble in her fingers as she brushes your hair away from your face, as she laughs, shaky and nervous.

_ We need to practice. To be better. _

And you had nodded your head, licked the sweet raspberry lip-gloss off of your lips and followed her lead: that's your role, you follow Cordelia's lead.

(You would follow her into the depths of hell, if she asked you, too, not because that's your  _ place _ in school, but because you love her. You love her with a ferocity that frightens you.)

She'd told you in the school hallway, underneath the arch outside, her fingers curled around the stacks of books in her hands. Her sunglasses pushed back into her hair, a soft sigh from her lips as she watched the older boys roll in packs out onto the field. A longing sigh. A sigh you would mimic when you saw the hoards of teenage boys in packs, but couldn't relate to. Her fingers curling into your palm as she bumped your shoulders together and laughed,  _ me too, harm, college boys are sooo much better!  _ she'd giggle, when you told her in confidence all your fears.

(But that's not what you meant. You meant that boys did nothing for you. That she was the only person who could get your heart racing, whose face you liked to stare at, who's laugh you longed to hear).

"My house, Friday." She'd told you, flippantly, as she raked her eyes over her nail-polish. Berry. You had swiped it from her the last time you were at her house, the two of you lounging outside by her pool, magazines scattered across the table and mimosa concoctions her mom would bring down from the kitchen. She'd been painting hers a scarlet shade, and you were painting them a bubblegum pink, but she'd chosen berry instead last minute and pushed the varnish into your hands, saying, " _ Match me, Harm. _ "

"Okay," You'd replied. Happily. Easily.

"But it's going to be a different kind of sleepover." She informed you, in a hushed whisper, a flirty raised eyebrow. Her arm linking with yours, the two of you moving in tandem through the arch.

"Different?" You replied, slightly uneasily. Stomach twisting in knots. Her parents were away for the weekend, some last minute Vegas trip, and she'd been talking about more  _ inclusive  _ (read: boys!) sleepovers of late.

"Yeah," She knocked her shoulder into yours and laughed. "Trust me, Harm. It is going to be  _ way _ cooler than our average weekend of laying around and doing nothing."

“O-okay,” You’d smiled. Because that’s your part: the ditzy, easy bestie.

“Don’t you want to know?” Cordelia had teased, tempted, tantalised. It’s not like her to tell you. It’s not her style. So, you shrugged and laughed and hugged her side-on.

“You’re not gonna tell me, Cor.”

She smiled. Silent. “We’re gonna practice.” 

“Practice what?”

Her voice lowered, hushed, barely a whisper: “Kissing.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment you saw yourself lying on the ground, dead and truly gone: but at least you had gone to heaven. Kissing Cordelia Chase.

“What?” You laughed, in shock, frozen still. She couldn’t mean what you thought she did…

“Well, how else are we going to learn? It’s what best friends are for. This way when I kiss Marcus at the dance, I’ll know what I’m doing.” Cordelia explained, “Boys like girls who know what they’re doing.”

Your heart sunk. But only a little. Of course this would be all for Marcus, the latest object of her affections. But it still meant you’d get to kiss Cordelia Chase, and before anyone else, no less. It was a secret shame of hers, that had only been shared with you in the utter-most confidence, that Cordelia had never kissed anybody. Virgin lips, she had called herself with only a dramatic waver in her voice that she could muster, flinging herself backwards onto the satin sheets your parents had brought you (from France, no less!). 

“I’m going to  _ die _ without being kissed!” Cordelia had shrieked, her voice a pitch you hadn’t heard before. Lips quivering. Eyes watering. At fourteen she’d been the only one in their group of friends that hadn’t kissed anyone, before.

“You’re not the only one who hasn’t been kissed.” You’d tried to reassure her. A hand on her knee. Careful for it not to slide down too much, or too high. 

“Oh, yeah.” She’d rolled her eyes. “You made-out with Mark last summer!”

_ Oops. You’d like to forget  _ that _! _

“Well, yeah.” You’d shrugged. “It wasn’t even good. You’re not missing out on anything. It’s slobbery and gross.” A shiver ran through you at the thought, and not a good shiver.

Even when Cordelia told you that she wanted to practice kissing, you’d still hung onto the thought of it being gross.

“But, besides. Do you think Willow Rosenberg’s had her first kiss?” You’d suggested, playfully.

“Oh god.” Cordelia moaned. “You’re comparing me to Willow Rosenberg.”

Yeah, bad move, Harm.

“This is it! This is _ the end of the world, _ Harmony!”

The next two and a half hours (yes, two-and-a-half-hours: being a teenage girl is hard) were followed by Cordelia’s sobs and your failed attempts at consoling her.

But, back to the hallway:

“Okay,” You reply. Brightly. Enthusiastically. With a dazzling, show-stopping smile. And then as an afterthought: “We want to be good at it, right.” 

Cordelia beams, like she’s the sun. You think she might as well be. Her heart is full of gold (even if no-one realises it) and her smile is radiant, her skin glows and her hair shines, and she’s full of brightness and life and energy. You want to be her. You want to be with her.

“Good.” Cordelia says. “I knew you would understand.”

That was four days ago. Now, the two of you are in her bedroom, on your knees, too afraid to touch each other. But, it was her idea, so Cordelia leans forward and you lean into it.

Her lips are warmer than you expected, slightly sticky from the lip-gloss that she had tried to remove, her hands curled into little fists on your knee. It feels like a long, drawn out moment. A never-ending end scene in a romantic film. It’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s rain moment, Titanic’s heated rain kiss, the upside down kiss in the rain in Spiderman. But there’s no rain. And there’s no great love affair between the two of you.

The moment ends. Cordelia moves away, furrowing her brows as she smacks her lips together. 

“Not bad, Harmony.” Cordelia grins, “But we can do better.”

You hum in agreement, buzzing from the high that has just been given to you. More? You wouldn’t turn that down.

You move forwards, skating across the carpet, knees burning. Your hands come to rest tenderly at her shoulders, a little awkwardly, a little unsure. You can’t bring your eyes to hers, instead you concentrate on the little golden flecks on the ends of her hair, before you shut your eyes closed. Lips on hers. 

Your mouths open up in unison, and you can feel the stars connect, and fireworks go off as Cordelia giggles against your mouth. Her tongue slides against yours and she giggles out a soft, “ _ Sorry _ ” and you laugh against her mouth and this is what life should be like: the two of you, just the two of you.


End file.
